So, apparently there is going to be a baby in my house in about seven weeks.
I have, indeed, been pregnant for 33 weeks so this should come as no surprise. And yet it is. Pregnancy is a weird state of motherhood purgatory. You see those two little lines on a home pregnancy test and immediately imagine snuggling little pink or blue bundles, the yummy smell that wafts off the soft spot and yearn to fold millions of teeny, tiny socks. Then you’re more tired than you’ve ever felt in your entire life and realize that THIS is how bears manage to hibernate all winter – they get THIS tired. Then you’re nauseous or get headaches or pee every five minutes. Then you are distracted by trying to find something to wear by your ever changing silhouette. You have doctor’s appointments, stretch marks, food cravings. Time passes and you can’t even remember how pregnant you are, you just know that the date circled on the calendar is a long way from now, so what difference does it make?
Pregnancy lulls you into a false sense of status quo as you pop your prenatals, head to the bathroom AGAIN and begin to accept the hip pain in bed as part of your new normal. Until the moment comes when you say, oh sh*t! There’s a real live hungry noisy human coming to our house. And coming soon!
It’s not that I’m not preparing, it just seems like most of the preparations have to do with peanut – the move to the official big boy bed, the who do we call when we go into labor discussions, the purchasing of a book or two to try and get him ready for the changes to come, the reading up on how to make the transition as painless as possible… The actual idea of preparing for labor and where pumpkin’s going to sleep at night all seem really remote, like they are happening to someone else.
Luckily, my panic coincides with a visit from my mom later this week where we’ll take down all of the hand-me-downs, organize what’s appropriate for baby, pop open that bottle of Dreft and make some lists of what we still may need. And when I get weepy about peanut not being my baby anymore as I picture each milestone that corresponds to each outfit, there will be someone who has been through it to hug me and share in the excitement of a new baby. In other words, help is on the way.
Until then, I’m painstakingly making my way through an entirely too long to-do list that doesn’t even include the normal stuff I need to, you know, do. And only sometimes giving in to the urge to call the hubby at work freaking out about all that needs to happen between now and the arrival.
The fact of the matter is, I can’t possibly predict how it’s going to be until pumpkin is physically here in all his newness. It’s just going to have to be sink or swim, right? And let’s face it, there are only so many water wings a girl can put on before jumping in.
As they say, hope floats.
Or maybe they don’t say that and it was just the title to some cheesy movie. Oh well. Whatever gets you through the day when the wine is off limits!